


Fragmented

by bbvqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, LOTSA DARK AND TRIGGERING SHIT refer to my other works thanks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbvqueen/pseuds/bbvqueen
Summary: fragmented [ frag-muh n-tid, -men-, frag-men- ]adjectivereduced to fragments.existing or functioning as though broken into separate parts; disorganized; disunified:a fragmented personality; a fragmented society.
Relationships: Big Boss/Venom Snake
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	Fragmented

**Author's Note:**

> surprise bitch i bet you thought youd seen the last of me
> 
> short explorative piece originally written for the bbv zine

V couldn’t remember when he’d had last been able to see a reflection of himself that was whole. It occurred to him for the first time, that day, staring into a mirror sporting the pattern of a spider’s web. Deep dark veins were dividing his face into tiny, uneven pieces where the surface had cracked; the impact of a single blow rippling across and changing - disconnecting - his entire appearance.

He couldn’t recognize himself, much less confirm that he was looking presentable for their clandestine rendezvous. Big Boss always said that they have to talk about their - _His_ \- next moves, but they rarely exchanged more than a dozen words when they got together. Usually his other half just said what V already knew, as if he simply wanted to make sure that they were on the same page and kept the same pace moving forward. If side A played until the end, side B had to continue when the tape was flipped, and vice versa. Always in sync, never moving separately. V understood how limited his autonomy really was. He fully realized that they were inseparably connected and had no desire to rebel against the status quo.

They made up for the lack of words with the explosive discharge of raw, greed-driven lust, and being of quieter disposition himself, V was just fine with that. The warehouses, outposts and dugouts they met at were always hopeless and filthy, like their entire operation. It reeked of piss and gasoline and from the corner of his eye he could see Big Boss smoking a cigar right next to a barrel labeled ‘highly flammable’ in big bold letters. His Bonneville was parked only two feet away, with tools and tissues spread out on the ground in front of it. Had to fix the exhaust pipe and replace the oil, he’d said. V was and had been no mechanic (a _medic_ , he knew factually but barely recalled personally), so he’d been made to feel useless during the repairs, and found only a broken mirror while aimlessly wandering around the dusty, vacated workshop, the building a long distance off the main road and thus guaranteeing a semblance of privacy. The crusted blood-smears and scattered bullet casings told the story of a violent altercation, probably involving the previous owner. Anything of value had been moved. All that was left behind were heaps of trash that rats had made their new home. Something good to come out of it all for the dregs of society, V supposed, aware that he and Big Boss were of the same ilk - thriving on and feeding off the conglomerated misery in this world, the indisputable reality of their situation no matter how often they told themselves they were fighting for a noble cause.

They were parasites. That’s what he saw when he looked at his splintered grimace in the mirror, but how he felt about it, V didn’t know.

“I’ll be the first to say that you’re a damn fine looking fella, but you’ve been staring into that thing for god knows how long now, you trying to communicate with it?”

It was Big Boss, his voice sudden and close to him, and it startled V enough to turn on his heel, a shard of glass crunching under his boot. Yes, Big Boss looked fine and whole and seamless, his face not littered with scars or put together like a puzzle. Everything about him made sense and reminded V of how he was supposed to look like. Being face to face with him always filled V with a distant sense of awe and wonder that pooled in his knees, making them feel weak.

“No,” V said quietly, sheepishly; his gaze dropping to watch his own good hand being drawn to and timidly brushing over the leather at Big Boss’s waist. He breathed in the cloud of smoke curling around them like a snake, originating from the cigar between Big Boss’s fingers.

“I was just thinking to myself… all the mirrors I come across lately seem to be broken. I only broke one, that’s supposed to be seven years of bad luck, isn’t it. Life’s got a funny idea of punishment.”

“Hmm?” Big Boss turned his head to look at the reflection himself and frowned, deeply.

“Doesn’t look that bad to me.”

V’s eyes followed his movements naturally, until he, too, was looking at the mirror again. He even mimicked the frown, because it was as Big Boss said: the mirror was not completely broken, only half of it - V’s half. Big Boss’s reflection looked as impeccable as he did, while V’s appearance remained a sad, desaturated mosaic.

_Is my mind playing tricks on me again?_ He wondered, like he did daily. His mind was as broken as the mirror, his sense of self fragmented and inconsistent. It had been like this ever since he’d come to in Cyprus, but milder; the expected complications of mental and physical trauma. But everything had changed when he’d received Ishmael’s epiphanic message: he was a fraud. An unwitting accomplice in a global game of deception, although Big Boss had managed to make it seem like it is something much more glamorous and graceful than it really was. He’d made V feel like he mattered. Like he and his sacrifice were appreciated.

But he knew that he was nothing more than a pawn, a puppet on a string. Forcing that fact into his head made it hurt, made the scars in his face ache, even the cracks he knew weren’t there. His hand couldn’t decide whether to reach for the shrapnel or the mirror or his itching skin, but before he could start to scratch at himself Big Boss caught his wrist and forced him to turn away from his distorted reflection.

“Hey now,” he chided V softly, who then, instinctively, began to hold onto Big Boss’s arm by himself, clinging to it like it was flotsam. None of this was new. Hallucinations and illusory pain - he’d lost the ability to tell reality from phantoms. Big Boss, the original, was the only reference point V still had left. His anchor.

“Look at me.”

He did so, gladly. Big Boss’s other arm slid around V’s waist, pulling him closer until their hips touched. V gave a shaky sigh when their cocks rubbed against each other, producing slight but rough friction through layers of clothes. Being this close to Big Boss made him feel much calmer and more agitated at the same time, almost to the point of dread. This was real - none of this was in his head.

He watched, spellbound, how Big Boss raised the cigar to his lips to take a slow, contemplative drag. He kept the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before he leaned forward, exhaling into his mouth without their lips ever touching. The act was so inherently erotic that V even forgot that he’d never liked real tobacco; his body always violently rejecting it, but now he found himself craving more. He inhaled deeply, shuddering as he was embraced inside and out.

“Please,” he murmured, and rested his forehead against Big Boss’s, finding it harder and harder to breathe. Big Boss always managed to stir something inherently primal in him, something buried and forgotten, something that made V feel less hollow inside. It made him _want_ , for himself. All these years he had only acted on other people’s behalf; followed Ocelot’s advice and executed Kaz’s revenge. But this was for himself. This was the man his real self had wanted since before V had even been born.

“What?”

V swallowed. “Be you,” he said. “Make me feel that I’m actually here. Like I’m not just a ghost.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Big Boss’s mischievous grin. His arm around V’s waist pulled harder, more possessively.

“Hmm. Not sure what you mean.”

V groaned quietly, frustrated, but knowing full well what Big Boss wanted from him - he didn’t like subtle. What he liked instead was to play with V while he was questioning his own sanity.

“You’re merciless...”

“How so?” Big Boss challenged him, his arm and eye both like steel, trapping V right where he was. “Unless you say it, it won’t happen. Look at me and tell me exactly what you want. I’ve told you this before.”

“We know what makes us feel alive and we’ll take it,” V recited dutifully from a previous session. “We’re not ashamed of who we are.”

“So show me who _you_ are.”

V gathered his thoughts for a moment, and then took a deep breath. Big Boss was right, of course. Big Boss knew him even when V had lost sight of himself, and pushed him relentlessly to take more and reveal what was underneath the broken surface.

Big Boss’s restrictive arm slid off him, and V took a step back the very same instant, already missing his warmth and support. But he knew what he had to do - what he had to say. Looking at Big Boss, V undid the clasp of his pistol belt with both hands.

“I want you to... fuck me senseless,” he said, his voice grave and meaning every word of it. “Fuck me so hard that I can’t stand or think.” He pushed his boxers and BDU pants down his thighs until they pooled at his ankles, then kicked them aside. His gaze did not leave Big Boss for even one second.

“But before that, I want you to make me bleed. I want the pain to be _real_ , and...” He ripped his tactical jacked open and off his shoulders, pulled the undershirt over his head so his ruined body was bared. “... for every inch of my body to scream your name.”

Finally, he dropped down to the filthy ground, ignoring small shards and debris digging into his knees and eventually his feet, when he untied the laces of his combat boots to get rid of them, too.

The last thing V removed was his prosthetic arm. He unlatched it from the harness and tossed both aside, leaving him with absolutely nothing but the slowly building arousal between his legs and his willing submission. He couldn’t hide anything. Didn’t want to hide anything. It wasn’t like Big Boss had ever taken him by force or made him do something he didn’t want to do; he’d given his life and body freely to him from the beginning, from the day they had first crossed paths.

V trembled.

There he kneeled, naked and demure in the dirt, in front of Big Boss, the only person in the world he was still connected to. He’d watched V strip wordlessly, smoking; there wasn’t much left of his cigar anymore, its ember a weak glow at the edge of V’s vision. He made a sound in the back of his throat that sounded like approval, then stepped forward decisively. The smell of used, cruddy leather filling V’s nostrils sent shivers down his spine.

There was not an ounce of resistance in him when Big Boss grasped a fistful of hair close to his scalp, violently pulling at his head and grinding his crotch so hard into V’s face that he almost smothered him. V didn’t care that he couldn’t breathe, instead wasting more air when he moaned against Big Boss’s constrained dick, already feeling hard as granite. He wished for the pants to spontaneously dissipate so his mouth, watering at the prospect, could swallow it whole -

“Shhhh-- _ittt_...” V convulsed violently his lustful moan turning into one of muffled anguish. He hissed in sync with the cigar butt being ground out against his nape, the burning sensation a taste of what was to come. But V would expect no less; Big Boss wasn’t prudish about dishing out pain and pleasure in equal measure. And wasn’t that what was so attractive to V? How Big Boss could use both tools so effortlessly to raise him from the dead, it felt like -

“This is what you come to see me for,” Big Boss said darkly, and the pressure both his hands exerted didn’t let up. “Not for words - false promises and advice. You come for pain. The only thing that’s real and will never disappear.”

Trapped between the pronounced bulge of his cock and the painful burn at the base of his neck, V felt like he was about to faint, lulled to sleep by the truth Big Boss spoke. It was all so obvious, yet some part of him desperately kept denying it every time - that he was addicted to hurting.

His eyes rolled back in his head and that was when Big Boss finally released him, if only to backhand him across the face, at full strength. It was so sudden and unexpected that V nearly toppled over, but he managed to catch himself at the last minute. His bottom lip was wet and when he had his tongue swipe over it, he tasted blood.

“This is what you want, isn’t it. You said it. Now tell me you like it.”

V took a shaky breath before he answered, “I like it.”

The second he finished his confession, Big Boss’s reinforced boot crashed into his stomach, digging so deep V felt like he was about to throw up. It was excruciatingly painful - any other person would begin to fight back at this point, or at least defend themselves. But not V. He knew exactly how he had to respond as he doubled up; his arms, acting on their own, covering his stomach protectively.

“I like it - “

Big Boss’s hand had his jaw in a tight grip the moment he crouched down, yanking it up and baring his throat. V didn’t dare swallow when he felt a sharp object - a shard - glide over his sensitive skin, the carotid artery pulsing frantically underneath. One tiny move from either of them and he could be heading straight towards death, not just pain. One wrong word and Big Boss might slash his throat open.

He couldn’t say with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t go so far. V’s apathy towards his own soulless existence made room for something else.

Fear.

As much as he depended on and foolishly adored Big Boss, he also feared him. His unpredictability and shameless hunger for blood - he needed to inflict pain on others as much as V needed it inflicted on himself. The crux of the matter was that they both had no concept of limits, where to stop, how much they could really take. Their lives had shaped them into beings ignorant of morals and boundaries.

And into men that knew that having personal feelings for comrades was among the worst sins one could commit.

Still - V remained motionless, resigning himself to Big Boss’s whims. He’d always lived from one second to the next, so why stop now.

“Would you like that, too?” Big Boss asked him, brushing the shard up and down his exposed skin lightly as a feather. V wasn’t sure what to say, if he should say anything at all. He’d often flirted with death and, some days, it was all too tempting to just be a little more careless - to not dodge a bullet coming for him, to miscalculate a jump... to forget his duty and whom he belonged to. Because then he would be free from all the pain and there would be nothing at all anymore.

But it wasn’t his call to make.

“I asked you something.” V’s throat went dry. Big Boss never would let him get away with not taking any responsibility.

“I... don’t know,” V carefully and genuinely voiced his confusion, and squeezed his eye shut firmly in anticipation of pain.

The shard left his skin, and V heard it drop to the ground, causing him to flinch. He allowed himself to relax too soon - the moment his eyelid fluttered open again, he yowled in pain and collapsed.

Big Boss had punched him straight between his legs, his aim impeccable. Hard enough to bruise and make going to the toilet feel like torture for at least a few days. Whimpering, he bent over even more, to shield his stomach and genitals from further abuse.

“I think you do,” Big Boss said, standing up. He spat on V like he was little more than a disgusting worm crawling around on the equally disgusting ground.

“But it’s just not that simple. Or is it?”

V remained where he was, afraid and unable to challenge Big Boss, the man whose identity he shared and blindly clung to.

“Stand up,” Big Boss eventually ordered. V knew he had to comply - if he didn’t, he might lose him and return to a hollow existence without meaning that would sooner or later drive him insane. So he stood, always fighting with the urge to cover vital parts of his body, and without looking Big Boss in the eye. Instead he focused on the ground, where he spotted drops of blood from his minor cuts.

Only the cold, metallic click of a pistol being cocked made him look up again. V immediately and without thinking about it took a step back, staring at the gun Big Boss casually pointed at his forehead. He had never before gone that far, and V didn’t have any sort of security blanket to comfort him - he wanted to say that he trusted Big Boss, but what exactly would he trust him with? His life? Yes and no. V wasn’t delusional enough to think that Big Boss was anything less than utterly unpredictable and entirely ruled by his impulses.

He was a predator toying with his prey. When he approached menacingly, V brought back the distance between them, backing away from him until he could no more because of an obstacle in his back. The grime on the ground had cut into and blackened the soles of his feet, but that pain was almost irrelevant compared to everything else.

V saw his index finger curve around the trigger, and not wanting fear to overtake his body and rebel against whatever fate had in store for him, he held himself tight and forced himself not to look.

He couldn’t process the myriad of emotions he felt so viscerally when he heard the gun discharge. Something shattered and V, as if on cue, fell to the ground, bruising his knees. Then there was silence, and inside the silence, his heart was still beating. His mind was still thinking.

The dark ground around him was covered in mirror shards, reflecting the sparse light like diamonds. Each of them showed a part of him from a different perspective, and soon, Big Boss’s boots came into sight. Then his face, when he once more lowered himself to V’s level, his firearm holstered again.

V briefly turned his head to look over his shoulder. The broken mirror that had been there before was now completely gone - shattered into fragments of varying size, and separated like that his own image didn’t appear so grotesque anymore. Why had Big Boss done that? V would never know for sure.

“Now tell me how you _really_ feel.”

Big Boss’s voice was grave and reverberated within him. One of V’s fingers idly touched one of the bigger shards, its running along the sharp edge. It superficially cut into his skin. This time, the answer came easier.

“Afraid.” He looked straight at Big Boss’s expression. Even with the gun gone, his fear was ever present and written all over his own face, and he noted Big Boss drawing closer.

“Of you. Of me.”

Like he was satisfied with that answer, Big Boss smashed his lips against his, one of his hands grabbing V’s still hurting neck. His kiss was both demanding and uncompromising, leaving no doubt as to what he desired and what he was going to do. V simply let it happen, and he perceived the utter lack of choice as rewarding, rather than punishing. Even when Big Boss bit into his tongue, almost tearing it out. Even when he gave V’s shoulder a rough shove, so he would fall backwards and right into the mirror shards, their pointy tips and sharp edges digging into the flesh of his back.

V groaned, volume of his pain rising when Big Boss intentionally applied pressure, pushing him into the ground, and the shards into his back until V could feel something wet starting to trickle out of him. Big Boss didn’t stop until he could _see_ him bleeding, a small puddle of red blossoming all around and framing him almost beautifully in his suffering.

At this point, V could no longer hold back the tears. It feld like a thousand nails being rammed into his back, and he wanted to hate everything about it - but when he focused on what was above him, Big Boss and his content expression, somehow everything made sense and wasn’t so bad.

He was afraid. But he liked seeing him satisfied too much to care. The sensory overload made his head fly and spin.

“Please...” V breathed hoarsely, but he didn’t need to ask. Big Boss’s hand was already at his own belt and fly, fumbling them open to pull out his already fully grown cock. Uncaring of V’s discomfort he tore his legs apart, and prepared him only briefly, with some spit pushed into his hole before he rammed his dick into V’s writhing body, down to the ballsack.

He screamed while Big Boss moaned. V’s body tried to act against his own will and weakly wriggle out of his grasp, to rise up just enough to escape, but it was no use. He was trapped between pain and the pleasure Big Boss would drive into him once he had torn down the last bit of lingering resistence.

His pace was brutal and erratic. He wasn’t messing around, wanting to get off as quickly as possible. V rolled his eyes as he was being rocked on the ground, every fibre of his skin burning. Oxygen became sparse. He scrambled for purchase, anything to hold on to, but all he found were broken pieces all around him.

So he settled for the only thing that he still had - his own erection standing at half-mast. The fingers of his only remaining hand curled around his shaft one by one until he had a secure grip, and then he began to pump himself in jerky motions, doing his best to match Big Boss’s rhythm.

The longer they kept going, the better and more natural it started to feel, and eventually V forgot about the shards and the pain altogether. Soon enough they grunted in unison, getting off each other’s violence and suffering until they both reached their peak and shattered anew.

***

Afterwards, they were back to silence, and Big Boss tried to fix what was fixable. He sat on a crate, again next to an explosive barrel, indulging in his nicotine addiction through another cigar. V sat on the ground in front so that Big Boss could pluck the mirror shards out of his ruined back one by one. They stuck out like thorns. It would take a good long while before he could even use anything from the first aid kit. V concentrated on keeping himself unmoving and the tears at bay.

To distract himself from the worst, he played with one of the bloody shards Big Boss had pulled out of him. When he held it just the right way, he could see both himself and Big Boss in its tiny reflection. Together. Physically whole.

“Are you afraid, too?” V asked, letting his thoughts drift. Big Boss face remained stoic, and he didn’t answer - maybe he was pretending he hadn’t heard the question. But that was fine. His freshly cut open thumb wiped over the reflective surface, covering them both in blood.


End file.
